DEBBIESPEAKS

When I was in primary school, I got into a serious misunderstanding with all the girls in my class. I honestly don't even remember what the issue was exactly—something about classwork or an assignment. What I do remember is that the girls in my class ganged up on me and threatened to beat me up after school. And me, being the small but very confident person that I was, kept running my mouth. After school, while I was walking home, they met me. And they beat me up. All of them. But strangely, the beating wasn't what hurt me the most. My best friend was one of them.   I couldn't understand how my best friend could join the others in beating me. It really hurt me. I didn't tell my parents. I didn't tell anyone. I just acted like I had forgotten about it. A few weeks later, my best friend and I started talking again. We never discussed what happened. I don't even remember if she apologised. We simply moved on. Little did she know, I had my plans. The following sessi...

  A few years ago in university, I was in my hostel one day, talking on the phone with someone. While we were talking, a girl nearby was making noise. The person I was speaking with asked who was making the noise, and I casually replied, “Oh, it’s my neighbour.” Immediately, the girl reacted. “I’m your neighbour?” she asked, sounding almost offended. After the call ended, I had to spend time explaining that I did not mean it in a negative way. But s he kept repeating, “So I’m your neighbour?” I think what she expected me to say was that she was my friend. But the truth was, she was not my friend. Not because she was a bad person. Not because we did not get along. We talked, we laughed, and we shared some moments together, but those things did not automatically make her my friend. If I was going through something difficult, she would not be the first person I would think of. If I needed help, she would not be the first person I would call. Our relationship was based on proximity and...

  I mistook attention for affection. I confused infatuation with connection. I let myself drift on waves of fleeting joy, believing there was nothing wrong with living in the moment.   I told myself, “It’s just for a little  whil e. ” But little whiles have a way of reaching for forever. Then my No became an inconvenience, and I learn ed  that love does not grow impatient because of a boundary.   But was it ever love?   So I walked away— not because my heart stopped feeling, but because my conscience began speaking louder, even while my heart still wanted to stay.   I cannot rewrite the chapter I lived through, but I can choose the one I write next.   And this time, I choose peace over pleasure, clarity over confusion, myself over a love that was never truly mine.   Sometimes walking away is not the absence of love; it is the presence of self-respect. Have you ever had to choose yourself even when your heart wanted to stay? Share your thought...

  Have you ever licked a Maggi wrap before? As a child, I did it countless times. In fact, it was one of the reasons I loved being in the kitchen with my mother. I was never interested in learning how to cook, but whenever it was time to add Maggi to the food, I always ended up with the wrap in my hand. And I licked it. The taste was always so good. Then one day, when my mother wasn’t looking, I decided to take things further. I thought to myself, If the wrap tastes this good, then the full cube must taste even better. So, I slipped a whole cube of Maggi into my mouth. The taste I experienced that day ?  I cannot even begin to describe it. My Maggi wrap-licking era ended immediately. I hated the taste. I hated the smell. I even hated being in the kitchen. That day, I learnt a lesson I would never forget: moderation. As simple as that lesson seemed, it reminded me of something deeper. Sometimes in life, we think having more of what we enjoy will bring us more satisfaction....

                                    Growing up, I always thought Queen Vashti was the villain whenever the story of Esther was told. But as an adult, I found myself defending her. I mean, walk through this with me. Your husband throws a party, gathers all his friends, gets drunk, and then sends for you to come and parade yourself before them. Ah ah! Me?  When I'm not an escort? Why exactly should I leave my own party to entertain grown men because the king has had too much wine? We know what happened next. She refused, and for that single decision, she lost her crown . Eventually, h er royal position was given to another woman. All because she refused to do what she believed would demean her. If this happened today, social media would probably explode with debates about women ’s  rights and gender equality. But this isn't about gender equality. It's about   God ’s favour . A few week...

  Yesterday, I scrolled through my Facebook page. Seeing old posts and pictures made me realize how much I have grown, not just as an individual but as a writer. I laughed at many of my old posts, reading them aloud and saying to myself, "Deborah,  you a ctually posted this?" Today, as I began reviving my social media platforms after leaving them inactive for so long, I came across some of my old pieces. Reading them made me realize just how much I have improved over the years. It also reminded me of something we often overlook: we hardly celebrate the little victories. We are so focused on where we want to be that we forget to appreciate how far we have already come. We say, "By now, I should have achieved this,"  or "I should be doing better than this."  But growth is happening, even when it feels slow. I smiled as I remembered the little girl who spent her days writing short stories. I would use my dad's stapler to fasten pieces of cardboard togethe...

  I have heard many   time s  that a man's name speaks to his character. A few letters put together, yet they seem to shape  one's destiny. Most times, it appears to be true. I mean, when you see Goodluck  excelling in competitions, or Miracle  surrounded by wonders, you pause and wonder if there is more to a name than mere identity. But what then happens when Peace  is a troublemaker, or Comfort  turns out to be a disappointment? Perhaps names are not always prophecies. Perhaps they are simply expectations.   Do names shape people? Do people shape the meaning of their names? Or is it simply coincidence? Usually, we have no choice in the name we bear. It is given before we can speak, before we can decide who we want to become. But sometimes, life offers us another chance. A name from a novel caught my attention. I liked the character. Without even finding out what the name meant, I chose to answer by it. When the opportunity came, I embraced ...